


Jeeves at the Chalet School

by Kate (euphrosyna)



Category: Chalet School - Brent-Dyer, Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 01:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 17,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphrosyna/pseuds/Kate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertie tries to escape his aunts by staying with a friend in the Tirolean Alps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was owing to an unfortunate misunderstanding involving Aunt Agatha, Aunt Agatha's new housemaid and Tuppy Glossop that Jeeves and I ended up in the South Tirol. London, and in fact the whole of England, remained out-of-bounds for old Bertram for the remainder of the year. The decision of where to hide was a difficult one. The unfortunate m. had far-reaching consequences, after which I was the topic of conversation in many club and private sitting room. Normally the Wooster name and the memory of my long and courageous lineage would have enabled me to brave such chatter, but when it emerged that my own family and my dearest friends at Eton and Oxford were the main perpetrators, playing a large part in the efforts to blacken my name, I am not ashamed to say that I rather lost my nerve. All of my usual hideouts were occupied by these traitors - New York, Paris, Monte Carlo. Not wishing to meet any of these miscreants, whose treachery left me confounded, Jeeves and I set to thinking.

"Any ideas yet, Jeeves?" I asked the good fellow, as he brought my morning eggs and b.

"I fear not, sir."

"Horrid thing, gossip," I sighed.

"Yes sir. 'Foul whisp'rings are abroad', sir."

"I say, Jeeves. Well put! Your own?"

"No, sir. The Bard of Avon, sir."

"Ah!" I said, fortifying myself with a sip of coffee. "Old Burns again, eh? You're rather fond of the poet Burns, Jeeves. Old friend?"

"Forgive me, sir, for venturing to correct you, but…"

At that point, the doorbell rang and Jeeves oozed out. I used the opportunity of some silence to push some bacon into the Wooster face while pondering on my current predicament.

"A telegram, sir."

I jumped. Jeeves has perfected the art of entering a room silently and while years of his loyal service has accustomed me to his ways, when I am lost in thought, he frequently manages to startle me greatly. On this occasion, the coffee pot had come a cropper and valuable moments were wasting in attempts to clear it up.

"Oh never mind that, Jeeves," I said at last. "Read the bally telegram."

Jeeves gave a pained look at the rapidly spreading stain on the cloth, but as usual, the feudal spirit saved the day.

"Very good, sir. It says 'Regret shocking behaviour of former classmates. Join me in Austria. Escape for you, also require assistance. Regards. JRP Hunter.'"

"I say, Jeeves!"

"Yes, sir."

"What does this mean, Jeeves?"

"Well sir, on interpreting the communication, I imagine that a person named JRP Hunter regrets your former classmates' shocking behaviour. He invites you to join him in Austria, in order to escape. He also requires your assistance. He sends his regards and signs off."

"Ah. You think so, Jeeves?"

"Yes, sir."

I mused for a while. It seemed the man was right.

"And this Hunter chap. Who is he, I wonder?"

"I really couldn't say, sir. Shall we leave out your brown tweed, sir?"

"Oh, yes, yes. Whatever you think, Jeeves."

Pulling on the Wooster socks, I had a revelation. An… oh, what's the word? I seem to recall Jeeves use it - begins with e… an epiphany, if you will.

"Jeeves!"

"Sir?"

"Old Foxy!"

"I fear I don't understand, sir."

I shook my head despairingly. The man was losing his touch. A few sardines should set him right. I made a mental note to send him out for some tins before our departure.

"The telegram! Foxy Hunter. He was an old classmate of mine in Eton. I think we shall leave for Austria, Jeeves."

"I could hardly advise it, sir."

"Oh? And why not, Jeeves?"

"The end of the summer is fast approaching, sir, and we are not accustomed to the Austrian winter. It is 'unsparing as the scourge of war', I have heard, sir."

"Oh nonsense, Jeeves. We shall leave tomorrow."


	2. Chapter 2

Arrangements had been made, packing had been completed and no forwarding address had been left. Telegrams tooed and froed between Foxy and myself, finalising such details as address, mode of transport and time of arrival. A pleasant journey was had and we reached the station of Spartz in good time.

"What rot, Jeeves!" I cried, waving an eager cigarette.

"Sir?"

"That speech you gave about the scourge of war or whatever rot it was. No harsh wintry weather at all."

"Yes sir. But if you will recollect, it is still September, sir. The months of winter are yet to come."

I looked at the man.

"I do believe, Jeeves, that you are determined to be pessimistic. But look around! The sun is shining and we have escaped Aunt Agatha and the chattering hordes. We must rejoice, Jeeves!"

"Yes sir."

"Expunge the thoughts of unforgiving winters from your mind."

"I have already done so, sir."

I nodded approvingly. Pessimistic he may be, but Jeeves knows when a man is right. Bertram was unmistakeably right in this instance. "Very good, Jeeves."

"I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir."

I gazed around. Rummy little place it was. One could see a large lake with a few tiny villages dotted around and some rather large mountains. One of them rather frightened me. Crags and peaks dipped and rose into the clouds and some snow was just discernable on the top. It looked cruel and unforgiving. Rather like an aunt - Aunt Agatha, to be specific. I voiced this opinion to Jeeves, who agreed.

"I had noticed a slight resemblance, sir."

At that moment, I heard a motor. Being a perceptive sort of chap - we Woosters pride ourselves on our sagaciousness - I immediately leapt to the conclusion that it was the car promised to us.

"The car, Jeeves! You can manage those bags, can't you?"

"Wooster, old boy!" I heard a shout and old Foxy leaped from the vehicle. I studied him as he strode over. He had always been a bony sort of chap, but now he seemed even thinner. His red hair was smoothed over to one side and liberally oiled. He had always looked like a scraggy fox - hence the nickname, while his last name of Hunter had added a certain subtlety to the humour - but now he looked like an even scraggier fox. Perhaps this is what the Austrian does to foxes. I know very little of the fauna of the area. I decided to broach the matter with Jeeves on a later date. Now was clearly not the time. The fellow was upon me.

"What-ho Bertie, you old ass!"

"What-ho Foxy, old fruit!"

"Getting a little thin on top, Bertie, old bean!"

I could have responded in a similarly vindictive manner, mentioning perhaps his growing resemblance to an ill-fed canine, but I carefully refrained. The man was about to give me room and board. I merely smiled and clapped him on the back. He staggered somewhat, but as it was nothing to the slaps I have been victim to at the hands of Honoria Glossop, for instance, I considered the man lucky.

Once these endearments were over, the car was packed and we were off.

After a long silence punctuated by grunts from Foxy as he navigated winding mountain roads, he glanced at Jeeves in the car mirror. "And you must be…?"

I couldn't see him at that point, but I knew from experience that Jeeves had lowered his head slightly out of respect. "My name is Jeeves, sir. I am here in the capacity of Mr Wooster's personal gentleman. I am delighted to meet you, Mr Hunter."

"Ah." Foxy looked rather nonplussed. Jeeves has that effect on my friends at times. Not a state you want your friend in while driving up a steep incline. I gave him a poke in the ribs. "Oh. Ah. Well, it's Dr Hunter, actually."

"Indeed, sir? Mr Wooster did not inform me that you were of the medical profession."

"I bally well didn't know!" I said indignantly. "When did this travesty occur? Do you mean to say this problem you referred to is medical? I assure you, Foxy, I have no experience in medical matters nor do I intend to! We're not staying at a hospital, are we?" This last with a shudder that I barely kept inward.

"Good heavens no! You're staying with the head of the San and his wife - a Dr and Mrs Russell. Very good friends of mine. And the problem is not medical. It's… well, it's about a girl. A sister of Mrs Russell, in fact."

"Aha!" I nodded knowingly. "Nice girl, is she?"

"A tender goddess!" Foxy professed.

I raised an eyebrow and glanced back at Jeeves. He raised an eyebrow in return. I was just about to raise the other eyebrow when the car stopped. We had arrived.


	3. Chapter 3

We were met at the door by a rather pleasant-looking deputation, a lady who I divined with the noted Wooster perspicacity must be the aforementioned Mrs Russell and a very pretty child of about thirteen or thereabouts. I am not fond of children in the general way, but I noted with satisfaction that this one did not look apt to giggle at one's hat or tie or manner of speaking, as so many do nowadays.

"Welcome, welcome," Mrs Russell cried, stretching out her arms. "Do come in, Mr Wooster. I hope your trip was pleasant?"

"Oh, I say, yes rather, what? Spiffing."

I thought I noticed a raised eyebrow, but I must have been mistaken.

"Do come in and I'll show you to your room. You will want to wash before Abendessen, of course. Robin, ma petite, run and tell Marie that Mr Wooster is here and we will have our meal in twenty minutes. This way, Mr Wooster."

"Oh yes, rather." I followed her, with Jeeves trundling on behind with the cases. "Dashed nice place you've got here, what?" Not that I thought so, of course, but one must be polite.

She stopped and turned. This time I saw definite eyebrow movement. "Mr Wooster, there are quite a few children and young girls in this house at all times. I am afraid I must ask you to moderate your language somewhat, as we do not wish them to pick up bad habits."

I stared rather but the code of the Woosters insists we give in to the wishes of ladies. "Oh yes. I say. Yes, good idea, what?"

"I am glad you think so. Here is your room."

Left alone in the rather small bedroom, I kicked a little.

"I say, Jeeves, this looks a bit thick, what?"

"Sir?"

"Old Foxy a doctor! In love with the daughter of the boss! Moderating my language!"

"Yes sir. It is very disturbing, sir."

"You can bally well say that again, Jeeves. And as usual, turning to old Bertram to sort it all out! Well, I am here first and foremost to relax, Jeeves! And my language - what is wrong with my language? Dashed restrained, I think myself, what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Nothing compared to Aunt Dahlia when she gets going, I say."

"Quite so, sir."

"And what in heaven's name is Anedbess?"

"The word is Abendessen, sir. It is German and refers to one's evening meal."

"Ah! Dinner, what?"

"Yes sir."

Home territory again. I felt rather more braced. My friends have often noticed that however tired and sad Bertram is, a good dinner can set him to rights. I have never been known to be at my best in the morning, preferring to breakfast alone, and at luncheon I am still a shadow of myself. But dinner - yes, that is when Bertram comes into his own. But still, a pick-me-up never goes to waste.

"I feel in need of a stiff brandy and soda, Jeeves. Stiff, mind. Easy on the s. with a good dash of the b."

"Yes, sir."

I lay back on the bed, closing my eyes moodily. I was disturbed by Jeeves' quiet cough, rather like a goat on the next Alm, as they would probably say here in Austria.

"I do not wish to alarm you, sir, but there appears to be no brandy."

I sat up with alacrity. "No brandy? What the devil do you mean, Jeeves?"

"I cannot seem to locate the brandy, sir. There is no decanter or even a glass."

Words failed me. "Well, I say, Jeeves!"

"Yes sir. Perhaps it is a momentary lapse on the part of the staff, sir. Shall I make inquiries in the kitchen while you dress?"

I waved him on, still unable to utter.

It is a sign of how pipped I was that I nearly put on a morning coat instead of a dinner jacket. A quick glance in the mirror and I rectified my error just as Jeeves came shimmering in.

"Oh Jeeves! Any luck with the old b. and s.?" I said, noting that there were still four minutes before the Germanic evening meal.

"I am afraid not, sir. The only brandy in the house is for medicinal purposes, I was informed."

I staggered. "Jeeves!"

"Yes sir. It is most disturbing, sir."

"Most disturbing! This is nothing short of catastrophic, Jeeves!"

"Yes, sir."

"No wonder Foxy can't work up the nerve to propose! No man can propose unless he's well juiced. Remember old Gussie and the Bassett?"

"My thoughts on the matter correspond exactly, sir."

A gong sounded. I groaned. "I suppose there is no chance of wine at dinner, either?"

"I anticipate that the contingency is remote, sir."


	4. Chapter 4

I descended the stairs with a sense of despondency, which only increased when I arrived at the dinner table. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I had a nasty shock. The table was, as Jeeves had predicted, singularly lacking in wine of any description, but instead was filled with food. I was slightly late and expected to arrive as the soup was being served, but no soup was forthcoming. Instead, all the food was placed in the middle of the table, and one seemed expected to reach for the items one desired. An arrangement that seemed to me to be most appropriate for breakfast and even admissible for lunch, but a gentleman should not be expected to reach for dinner items, surely! A Wooster is always polite to his hosts, however, and I took my place with not so much as a startled "Oy!" A second shock betook me when I gazed around the table at my fellow guests. Not one person had dressed for dinner. Jeeves would have been extremely upset. The ladies did, I admit, look fresh and pretty, but in frocks more suited to playing tennis than for evening wear, while the men, including old Foxy, were attired in what were probably the suits they had been wearing all day. The children were similarly dressed, but in these lax times one expects that of the little weeds.

I felt rather weak and so, despite the meagre fare, dug into a slice of bread and butter. What I would give for one of Anatole's plates of Selle d'Agneau a la Greque! And not even so much as a glass of sherry to soften the blow. Old Foxy was speaking to me. I looked up feebly.

"Miss Bettany, do allow me to present Mr Wooster? Bertie, this is Miss Bettany." He gestured to the girl sitting beside him.

I appraised the young lady. I would not have used the phrase "tender goddess" myself, but I could see a definite attractiveness. Reminded me of Bobbie Wickham, although I could see a slight touch of Honoria Glossop. Fun-loving girl, I would have thought, but an intense bossy streak. Wouldn't hesitate to give a fellow one in the eye if she thought it was required. Very direct sort of girl. And possibly, like Honoria, an admirer of Napoleon. She had that sort of look, you understand. It is something about the shoulders. But still, rather a good egg underneath it all, I should say. If you were on the right side of her, so to speak.

"What-ho!" I said cordially.

"Oh hallo," she answered affably. "I do hope you had a pleasant journey?"

"Oh rather."

Foxy was glaring in my direction. I hastily stopped smiling at the young lady and transferred my attention to him. He continued the introductions.

"You have met Mrs Russell, of course, and young Robin here." He paused to pat the child's head. She shied rather, I noticed. Good egg. I wouldn't want old Foxy patting my head. "This is Miss Cochrane, a friend of the family." I bowed slightly to Miss Cochrane. Now there was a corker of a girl if you like. Sort of girl you wished was being chased by a rabid bear so you could pop in and bash the bear smartly on the head, just so there was a chance she would bestow a smile on you. She was not smiling now, however. Her face seemed rather discontented. A metaphorical bear, perhaps? I made up my mind to bash the bear if I could. I would get Jeeves on the case instantly. Foxy was continuing - I had missed the names of some of the party in my reverie. "Dr Russell is unavoidably absent tonight, but this is Dr Jack Maynard, another doctor at our San."

Thereupon my third shock of the night. I started visibly. "Well I'll be dashed! Maynard!"

Maynard started visibly. "Bertie Wooster! What on earth?"

Foxy started visibly (making three visible starts in all - I was keeping count. It must have been rather exciting to watch.). "You know each other?"

"I should say we do, old sport!" I answered with vim. "We were at private school together."

Old Maynard - now what was the name we used to call him? - did not look full of similar vim. "Still up to your old tricks, Wooster?"

I didn't have the faintest idea what the cove was talking about.

 

Maynard laughed, rather nastily, I thought.

"Still attempting to cheat honest folk out of their hard-earned prizes?"

Now I knew where I was. Out of jealousy, no doubt, a number of my fellow pupils at the dear old private school I attended before Eton had spread the story that I attained the end-of-year prizes for history and scripture knowledge by the ungentlemanly act of cheating. Of course, no one who knows Wooster well could entertain the idea for more than a moment, but the authorities were rattled and the history prize was taken from my hands and given to Maynard, one of the most vocal of the protestors. I retained the scripture knowledge prize, however, Maynard not attending that particular lesson, and it is one of my proudest accomplishments - and, I think, a sign of my honour. It surprised me somewhat that Maynard would bring up the affair, as one would think that the added years would have eased such jealousy, and extra maturity would have helped him realise that it is of paramount importance to be a gracious loser, especially to such a deserving winner. I, of course, hold a rather enormous grudge for his snaffling of the history prize; however, he achieved that through such base tricks that one can hardly blame me.

"I say, old thing!" I began, shocked, but was interrupted by Foxy.

"Oh never mind that now, you two! Eat your supper!"

Ever the chivalrous guest, I desisted immediately, but I noticed frosty looks from the old school chum. I looked the other way carefully and smiled cordially at my hostess.

"Jolly good spread you have here, what, don't you know."

Mrs Russell smiled faintly. "Will your friend be joining us, Mr Wooster?"

"Friend?" I was perplexed. While I seemed to be acquainted with a larger proportion of the population of the Austrian Tirol than I had first imagined, I did not envision any more friends popping out of the woodwork.

"You had a friend with you when you arrived," Mrs Russell pointed out.

I gazed around in confusion for a few moments. "Oh! You mean Jeeves!"

"I didn't know his name," Mrs Russell said, with a touch of reproach in her tone. "In fact, I wasn't expecting another guest. He is, of course, very welcome," she added hurriedly.

"Oh no, no, no, no, what? It's just Jeeves. My valet, don't you know."

Light dawned in the good lady's eyes. "I see! Your manservant."

"Yes, indeed," I agreed, pleased we seemed to be on the same page. "So he'll have biffed off to the kitchen or staff quarters, I imagine."

The 'tender goddess' lifted her eyes. "Does he speak German, Mr Wooster? I'm afraid Marie - our help - only speaks German."

"Oh, I expect so," I said carelessly. "Jeeves usually manages."

Conversation lapsed here and I tucked into my pudding. Not bad stuff, but not very filling, as it were. I hoped Jeeves was faring better wherever he had disappeared to.

"Do hurry up, Bertie," Foxy was saying. "Miss Bettany has promised to sing for us once we're finished!" He cast an adoring glance on the girl, who was eating trifle with gusto. Her third helping, I had noticed. Nice to see a good appetite in a young girl, I always say.


	5. Chapter 5

My stomach still felt rather empty as the meal ended and I thought with longing of Anatole's Mignonette de Poulet Roti Petit Duc. We proceeded to a room they called the "salon". On the way, I caught sight of Jeeves partly concealed behind a smallish statuette. "Psst, sir."

I stopped and joined him. "Did you say 'psst', Jeeves?"

"Yes sir, if you'll pardon the liberty. I have come into possession of some rather pleasant news."

"Oh, Jeeves? Is it in relation to steak and kidney pie?" My mind was running on gastronomical lines.

"I fear not, sir."

"Oh well, Jeeves. What is it then?"

"Well, sir, it appears that some of the young gentlemen working in the Sanatorium and indeed, a few of the young ladies employed in Mrs Russell's school, are rather perturbed at the lack of alcohol available in the vicinity."

I nodded sagely. "As well they might be, Jeeves!"

"Yes, sir. Because of this, sir, they have initiated a variety of speakeasy."

"Oh yes?" I inquired, my face lighting up. It is a treat to see old Bertram's face lighting up. I advise you to relish the occasion if ever you get a chance to see it.

"Yes sir. In the potting shed, sir. They are partial to meeting at eleven o'clock, at which time the occupants of the residence are soundly asleep."

"You're a good man, Jeeves."

"I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir."

I nodded to dismiss the man, but something he had said struck me forcibly between the eyes.

"Jeeves!"

"Yes sir?"

"Did you say that the occupants of the house are soundly asleep by eleven o'clock?"

"Yes sir."

"As in eleven pip emma, Jeeves?"

"Yes sir."

"But why do they require such a long sleep?"

"I imagine, sir, that they rise early."

"Early, Jeeves?" I inquired, rather worriedly. "How early?"

"Yes sir. I have been informed that breakfast is served at half past seven."

"Ye gods, Jeeves!"

"Yes sir. Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes, Jeeves, that will be all."

Jeeves buzzed off and I proceeded to the drawing room - or rather "salon" - or do I mean "saloon"? - with a heavy tread. The news of the speakeasy, as Jeeves dubbed it, had done much to lift my spirits but this business of the early rising was dragging them down significantly. However, a spot of music often does much to cheer all of the Woosters and I was able to put on my bravest face as I appeared around the door.

"What ho, what ho, what ho!" I said with pleasure, spying quite a good piano in the corner.

"Oh do sit down, Bertie," Foxy hissed, pulling at my dinner jacket. He stared at it as if he had never seen one before. "What an ass you do look! Didn't you..."

"Gentlemen, please!" the tender goddess said, rather sharply. Foxy looked crestfallen, but quickly recovered.

"I was just telling Mr Wooster that you were about to give us a rendition of Brittany, Miss Bettany - and about your glorious voice."

Miss Bettany bestowed a look of utter loathing on him. I have had occasion to discuss before, I think, the renowned Wooster brain. Well, sometimes it fails old Bertram and it is not entirely uncommon for the more critical person, usually in the form of an Aunt, to describe it as mush, or Bertram himself as an ass. But there is one area of life that Bertram is simply unsurpassed, and this is the area of the young lovers. And I should like it to be known that Miss Bettany's look did not seem to me to be the look of a young lover. Rather the look of a disapproving Aunt - or perhaps even worse, as an Aunt is permanently linked to the recalcitrant Nephew, and this look was one of someone who did not desire to be linked, permanently or otherwise, to the other person at all.

Still though, she could sing. And I always say, if there is music in a chap, there is hope. Shows a good side, you know. A dose of joviality and a bit of fun. You don't catch Attila the Hun tinkling away on the piano, or old Bluebeard breaking out in a chorus of "47 Ginger Headed Sailors". Even my Aunt Agatha can't carry a tune. But show me a chap who can, I say, and I'll show you a good chap.

We applauded politely and enthusiastically.

"That was beautiful, Joey!" her sister said. "Now who will go next?"

"I will!" Foxy jumped up and made towards the piano.

"I think Mr Wooster should sing something," Mrs Russell said hastily, with a quick look at Miss Bettany, whose expression was rather pained. "Do sit down, Mr Hunter. You entertained us last night, we couldn't possibly call on you again."

Foxy looked disposed to argue, but I had leaped up. It was not that I was particularly eager to entertain the masses, but I had heard Foxy sing when we were at Eton. It was not an experience that I was anxious to repeat. Foxy may have been a good enough fellow, but where music was concerned, he may as well have been Attila the Hun or Bluebeard.

"Do tell us about the song first," the child - Robin - said eagerly, as I sat by the piano. "Joey's song - Brittany - has such a pretty tale, does it not, Tante Marguerite?"

"Why yes," Mrs Russell nodded. "It was written by an English composer, Mr Wooster, who died in the last war. He was a great friend of our singing teacher at the School."

"Oh, indeed?" I said politely. "This song - er - this song is by an American. I don't think he was in any war."

I struck a chord and began.

_If you're blue and you don't know  
where to go to why don't you go  
where fashion sits  
Puttin' on the Ritz  
Different types who wear a day  
coat pants with stripes and cutaway  
coat perfect fits  
Puttin' on the Ritz  
Dressed up like a million-dollar trooper  
Tryin' hard to look like Gary Cooper (super duper)  
Come let's mix where Rockefellers  
walk with sticks or um-ber-ellas  
in their mitts  
Puttin' on the Ritz_

I finished and waited for the applause and acclaim. There was silence. Someone coughed slightly.

"But what does it mean?" the child asked rather plaintively.

I opened and closed my mouth helplessly.

Miss Bettany coughed. "Er - was that jazz, Mr Wooster?"


	6. Chapter 6

I sat glumly on my bed, watching Jeeves unpack.

"It gets thicker by the minute, Jeeves," I said with some bitterness.

"It may console you to remember, sir, that it is often darkest just before dawn."

I stared at him. "Say that again, Jeeves?"

"It is often darkest just before dawn, sir. An axiom - or adage if you prefer - that people have relied on for…" He broke off with what I can only describe as a smothered yelp. Rooting under the bed for a fallen cigarette, I could not see the man's face, but the cry suggested that it was close to a mottled green colour.

"Are you all right, Jeeves?" I enquired in rather muffled tones from beneath the feather eiderdown.

"Sir, I fear that a strange and unusual article has found its way into your luggage." He sounded strained.

"A strange and…" I rose from my position on the floor to look at him. I had guessed correctly about his complexion. Indeed, he looked somewhat like a dying sheep, one hand clasped to his heart and the other holding a very fine, if I may say so, blue Alpine hat with a pink feather. This, it appeared, was the item of which he so disapproved.

"That, Jeeves," I said sharply and I do not hesitate to declare that my tones were icy, "is my hat."

"Indeed, sir? You do not think it is rather… frivolous?"

"I do not, Jeeves! Frivolous! I say!"

"If you do not mind me enquiring, sir, where did you purchase the… article?"

"Ha!" I said smartly. I had him here. "I bought it from Kemble's." I knew Jeeves greatly respected the shop in question. Quite a number of my shirts were bought there and I know Jeeves has the highest opinion of my shirts. Ties and even socks, we have disagreed upon, but never shirts. And Kemble was the man for hats these days, it could not be denied.

However, my valet continued to eye the object with askance. "I am surprised, sir."

"Surprised, Jeeves?"

"Yes sir. I would not have thought it of Mr Kemble. Perhaps - did he perhaps mention any sort of fancy-dress party? I can only presume he thought you required it for such an occasion."

There comes a time when one must put one's foot down inflexibly and show the iron will for which the Woosters have been famed for centuries. I could see at fifty p's that Jeeves did not like my new lid, however, can one let one''s valet make such decisions? No, say I. On the topic of shirts, we see e. to e. In the matter of dinner jackets, we concur exactly. Even in the realm of morning coats, we seldom disagree. I have mentioned our differences over ties and socks, but even there I am prepared to compromise. But not here. Oh no. Not over my Alpine hat.

"It is an Alpine hat, Jeeves," I explained patiently. "We are in the Alps. Elmo,…"

"Ergo, sir," he interjected.

"Eh?" I had lost my train of thought.

"You said 'elmo', sir. I do believe that 'ergo' was the word for which you were searching."

I looked at him with some disgust and took my hat with dignity, placing it on my head. "Really, Jeeves, if all you can…"

We were interrupted by a rap on the door. Jeeves answered it with some rapidity.

"Dr Maynard," he announced.

I bounced up, pleased to see the old chum, despite his caddish behaviour at dinner. I had remember the old name we used to call him and there is nothing that bonds two old schoolmates like the old name.

"Jigger!" I cried, stretching out my hand.

He did not take it. In fact, he scowled most unbecomingly.

"Do shut up, Wooster. I'm not here for a social call. And what did you just call me?"

"Don't you remember, old bean? Jigger. It was our old name for you at our private school!" I fingered the feather of the Alpine hat, rather nervously. I had a strange feeling that the conversation was on dangerous ground.

I was correct. Within seconds, old Maynard had pinned me to the wall. "Do not," he snarled, "do not let anyone in this house hear you use that name. Understand?"

I attempted to answer in the affirmative, but my vocal chords were in rather a compromising position and so I was unable. Jeeves, despite his conservative taste in hats, is a good fellow, however and he correctly deciphered my whimpers.

"I believe Mr Wooster is agreeing to your request, Dr. Maynard," he said quietly and the man let me go.

I slid to the floor dazedly.

"As I said," Ji - I mean, Maynard continued, unphased, "I am not here on a social call. I have a job for you."

"A job?" I squeaked.

"Yes, Wooster. I consider that you owe me a debt. Here is your chance to repay it." He looked at me threateningly.

I gulped, remembering the strength of his grasp around my neck. "Yes?"

"I am engaged. I need you to get me out of it."

"Engaged?" I repeated. "Get you out of it?"

"That's what I said, man," Maynard said impatiently. "Old Gussie - you remember Gussie Fink-Nottle? - told me that you got him out of a few scrapes. I need you to do the same for me."

I recovered my seat on the edge of the bed, fingering the back of my head gently. It didn't appear to be broken, but one never knew. Still, the house did appear to be full of doctors, so I presumed that I was fairly safe.

"To whom are you engaged?" I asked rather more sympathetically than hitherto. I too had been accidentally engaged to several young ladies. It's very easily done. The ladies of my acquaintance are dreadfully prone to misunderstanding one, and once a lady is under the impression that she is engaged to one, it would be frightfully rude, not to mention ungentlemanly, to inform her otherwise. We Woosters would never bandy about a woman's name, but it is common knowledge that I have been engaged to Honoria Glossop - just as it is well known that Honoria Glossop is a hard-boiled sort of egg. As I believe I have mentioned, there was a young lady who reminded me greatly of Honoria in the household. I was seized with a sudden paroxysm of fear. "Not… not Miss… What was her name?"

"Yes," Maynard groaned. He sat heavily on the chair beside the bed. I patted him on the shoulder and called to Jeeves, who shimmered over immediately. Don't know where the blighter had been.

"Jeeves, a brandy and soda, please!" The occasion called for it, I felt.

Jeeves coughed. "If you remember, sir, the house is bereft of spirits."

"Oh, good lord, yes. Dash it." I looked around wildly for a substitute. "Some water then, Jeeves, I suppose."

"Yes, sir." He shimmered off again.

"Water!" Maynard spat derisively.

As a former fiancé of Honoria Glossop, I knew how he felt. True, Honoria was no Madeline Bassett and was not under the illusion that the stars were God's daisy chain or that she must say good-night to all the little bunnies before retiring to bed. Still however, she was a tough cookie, as they say in America. One of her first acts as my fiancée was to attempt to dismiss Jeeves. I do not know if Maynard had a Jeeves (the state of his collar and cuffs would suggest not) but I can imagine that the Miss… Miss Bettany, that was it, would attempt to dismiss from his life whatever his favourite pass-time or whoever his bosom friend happened to be.

"I know, I know, old fellow," I said soothingly. "But do not worry. Gussie was correct, I am accustomed to the art breaking engagements without breaking the gentleman's code."

"Oh, stuff the gentleman's code!" Maynard said. "I don't care a fig for the gentleman's code." He said the words as if they tasted nasty.

"Then why…?"

"I'm in love, Wooster," he announced melodramatically. "With Joey - Miss Bettany. And Miss Cochrane is her closest friend. This breaking of the engagement must be discreet. If Miss Bettany finds out I am engaged to her friend, I shall never win her!"

I massaged my temples. My head was throbbing. Jeeves chose that moment to sidle in with the glass of water, which I drained immediately. It had no effect. I didn't think it would.

"Do stop a moment," I pleaded. "To whom are you engaged?"

"To Grizel, of course. Miss Cochrane."

"And you are in love with Miss Gloss - I mean, Miss Bettany?"

Maynard snorted. "Are you deaf, Wooster?"

Words failed me. Two - I hesitate to use the word intelligent, but two men blessed with semi-average brain power in love with a girl so like Honoria. I made up my mind to speak with her as soon as possible. Perhaps she had hidden depths.

Maynard rose with dignity. "I shall leave this in your hands, Wooster. I want this engagement broken. Or I shall write to your Aunt Agatha - yes, Gussie was very outspoken about your Aunt Agatha - and inform her firstly of your whereabouts and secondly of your frightful behaviour in the prize affair."

 

He left the room, laughing menacingly. At least, I think he laughed menacingly. They usually do. I sat there, looking rather, I would imagine, like a shell-shocked sea snake. Green around the gills, if you get my drift, with a certain droop in the jaw area. It was not, of course, as if I was in any way at fault in the prize affair, but I knew from bitter experience that Aunts are only too eager to believe the worst of one. In any case, I had no desire to inform Aunt Agatha that I was anywhere. Indeed, I rather hoped she thought that I was dead.

"I say, Jeeves," I managed.

"Yes sir," said the good man sympathetically. I have said it before but I shall say it again, however old-fashioned he can be on the subject of hats, he does not hold a grudge. When he sees the y.m. pinned up against a wall or in the depths of despair, he does not hesitate to step into the breach, pour oil on troubled waters while uttering consoling words. He did so now.

"If you remember, sir, there is an illicit organisation devoted to the provision of alcoholic beverages in the potting shed at eleven o'clock. It is now five minutes past."

My eyes opened widely and I scurried off, not even pausing to return my blue Alpine hat with the pink feather to its box.


	7. Chapter 7

The Woosters are not noted for their sense of direction and for that reason it was nearing half past eleven by the time I reached the potting shed. Somewhat nervously I approached the entrance. I trusted Jeeves, of course - no better man - but my initial impressions of the Russell ménage were not altogether cheering and I would not have been completely taken aback to open the door to find yet another small girl with no ear for music, or an additional angry doctor ready to break my spine in five places while sending telegrams to my Aunt Agatha. The idea of an actual alcoholic beverage seemed, at this stage, to be too good to be true. Still though, one must hope. Hope, like the gleaming taper's light adorns and cheers our way, as most people know. Not mine that, by the way. Jeeves's. In any case, I entered the shed. My way was cheered, as soon as I crossed the threshold. A more sympathetic crew I couldn't have wished to see, while even the most uncouth of crews would have been muchly improved by the presence of the brandy, which I could see in a large decanter. I moved towards it like a moth to a flame. I don't know why a moth should be attracted to a flame, but that is part of the peculiarity of moths.

"So you've decided to join us, Mr. Wooster?" Miss Cochrane commented. She was perched on a wheelbarrow and looking more of a corker than ever. Beautiful profile. I couldn't understand Maynard's aversion.

I threw back a snifter. Instantly I felt my blood warm and my toes uncurl. Amazing stuff. I held out my glass for another and smiled at Miss Cochrane genially.

"Yes, my man informed me of your little get-togethers."

Miss Cochrane returned my smile. "Shall I introduce everyone? We used to be a bigger crowd, when we could meet in the Annexe, but some bottles were found there last week - drat Eigen and all his works - and now Dr. Jem has a watch on the building. Now we use this shed, but it is rather small so we take the night in shifts. This is the early shift."

"Ah," I said knowledgeably, drinking my brandy. No soda was available, but it didn't seem to matter.

Miss Cochrane continued. "This is Mr Wooster, everyone. He's a friend of Dr Hunter's and is staying with Madame. Mr. Wooster, this is Matey" (she indicated a small wiry-looking female, sitting on a large flowerpot) "Miss Nell Wilson" (she nodded to the red-haired lady in charge of the decanter) "Herr Dokter Mensch" (this was a young blond gentleman who already looked rather worse for wear) "and Miss Con Stewart."

I peered into the shadows where another figure stood. "Well! Charlie, old fruit!"

"Hallo, Bertie!" Con Stewart stepped forward and wrung my hand.

Well! This was a treat. I'd known her for years, of course - since my private school days. I had been forced by necessity to spend a number of half-terms with a fellow at my private school - Jim Stewart - and his family, despite never having been friendly with the chap. These half-terms had been saved by the presence of Stewart's twin sister Con, who's one of those sympathetic type of girls. Always ready to clasp one to her bosom, pat one's head and murmur comforting words, even at the age of eight. Stewart never approved of the friendship, of course, but no self-respecting young lady listens to her twin brother. We had kept up our amity while she was in London, meeting for the occasional dinner at the Ritz or outing to a night-club, but we had lost contact in recent years.

I voiced my pleasure and incredulity. "Charlie, young sprout! Where have you been?"

"I'm teaching in the Chalet School, of course, you mutt!" she said affectionately. "Matey drives us up and down at night, it's quite a way, but it's worth it." She waved a glass in the air.

I quite agreed.

The night went extremely well, as can be seen even from this short description. 'Matey' and Miss Wilson were both congenial company, while the merits of the companionship of Miss Cochrane and Charlie were obvious. The Hairy-Doctor man was rather quiet, lolling drunkenly in the corner for most of the time I was there, but he was not disagreeable.

I was rather startled that Foxy didn't make an appearance, however, and when I enquired of Miss Cochrane whether he was a member of another shift, she answered sharply in the negative.

"Oh no, Mr. Wooster. He is desperately in love with Joey - Miss Bettany and so avoids all such activities. Joey doesn't approve of alcohol."

"Ah," I nodded sagely. Presumably Jig- I mean, Maynard was absent for the same reason. However I used the brain and refrained from mentioning this to Miss Cochrane. I hadn't yet decided how to break the engagement, but I sensed angering the young lady was not a good move at this point.

It was after two when the second shift arrived and we had to leave. I fell into my bed, feeling considerably happier than a few hours before.

 

I woke early the next morning, feeling braced. Jeeves shimmered in with the morning nostrum, which did include an essential ingredient which he had feared we must do without. Or so he told me, rather cryptically. Jeeves never has told me exactly what his patented pick-me-up is comprised of, but I imagined from his manner that the constituent parts are rather hard to obtain in this part of Austria. Still though, Jeeves prevailed, and the young master was not deprived.

"What time is it, Jeeves?" I asked once the healing tonic had been imbibed.

"It is half past nine, sir."

"Good lord, Jeeves, that's early, what?"

"Yes sir. It is not your custom to arise before ten, sir, I realise. However it was drawn to my attention that breakfast is at eight o'clock."

"At eight o'clock?"

"Yes sir. I was unable to wake you at that hour, so I took the liberty of informing your hostess that you were unwell. She put aside some coffee and rolls for you."

"Coffee and rolls, Jeeves? Coffee and rolls? What kind of breakfast is that for an Englishman?"

"Yes sir, I anticipated your chagrin, so I procured some eggs and bacon from the kitchen."

"That's more like it!" I said appreciatively, sitting up as the good man placed the tray on my knees. The man may have a bee in his bonnet about - well, about bonnets, really - but he knows his way around the eggs and b.

He coughed slightly at this moment.

"What is it, Jeeves?" I asked, sensing with the uncanny ability I have that he had more to say.

"Well, sir, it is just that in a house full of doctors, I am not sure that it is perfectly safe to admit to being unwell every morning. You may have to consent to be… examined, sir."

"Examined, Jeeves? Do you mean to say that if I don't get up at dawn every morning that I shall be poked and prodded by my prep school chums?"

"It was precisely that which I intended to convey, sir."

"Well dash it, Jeeves. This Austrian idyll is no more than a what's-it."

"A what, sir?"

"No, a what's-it, Jeeves. Begins with m. It's on the tip of my tongue."

"A mirage, sir?"

"That's the one." I tackled the e. and bacon with none of my usual gusto. Jeeves trickled into the bathroom while I entered deeply into thought. I was still d. in t. when Jeeves returned, with his left eyebrow raised perhaps a tenth of an inch, indicating his profound confusion and vexation.

"I regret to inform you, sir, but there is no hot water for your bath."

I did not stagger, I did not even quiver. It came as no surprise whatsoever. Households that rise at dawn, that do not imbibe spirits or alcohol of any nature, that do not dress for dinner and that eat such fare as coffee and rolls for breakfast rarely do have hot water in the mornings. Not, of course, that I have any personal experience of such households, but I have read about them. In books. Terrible books, usually, by lady novelists.

I had weightier things on my mind, however. As pressing as the problems I faced in my accommodation were, there was also the matter of Jigger Maynard. He had threatened to cable for Aunt Agatha unless I carried out the task allotted, and if there was one thing that I was grateful for in this dismal place, it was the absence of Aunt Agatha. In addition to this, his violent behaviour the previous evening had not convinced me wholly of his trustworthiness in relation to not killing me, or at least injuring me seriously.

"Oh never mind the bath, Jeeves," I said severely. "Apply yourself to the task at hand."

I apprised him of all the details.

"Yes sir, it does appear to be a difficult matter. You must help two gentlemen become engaged to the same lady, while secretly disengaging one of them from another lady."

I nodded my head approvingly as I ate a thoughtful egg.

"The problem in a nutshell, Jeeves," I remarked as I finished. "I am bound to one of the gentlemen by ties of a common school - and while the other seems to have reneged on the ties of the common school, I am bound to him by ties of not wanting Aunt Agatha to arrive on the threshold. It's a sticky one, Jeeves."

"Yes indeed sir."


	8. Chapter 8

Of course it is all very well to say "yes indeed, sir" and so I informed the man with a note of severity in my voice.

"It's all very well to say 'yes indeed, sir', Jeeves."

"Yes sir."

"Well?"

"Sir?"

I waved my fork. "I merely await a plan to extricate myself from the situation, Jeeves."

"Yes sir. Well sir, it appears that in this case Dr. Maynard holds, if I may use a card-playing metaphor, the trump."

I considered. He had a point, of course. The old school is very dear, naturally, but Aunt Agatha can strike terror into a man's heart at fifty paces.

"You are right, Jeeves," I conceded, "but can I bring myself to abandon old Foxy? When he has taken us in, Jeeves!"

"Well sir, it would not be necessary to abandon Dr. Hunter. I suggest that we merely allow his problem to wait while we deal with the other. Once Dr. Maynard is satisfied, we can endeavour to satisfy Dr. Hunter."

I stroked the figurative moustache (the figurative one, I say, because Jeeves dislikes the idea of a literal one and in this and this alone I defer to his wishes). I often stroke the figurative moustache when I am thinking, especially when I am thinking in critical terms of my fellow conversationalist. In this instance, I was thinking in critical terms of Jeeves. I had spotted the fatal flaw in his plan.

"You seem to be forgetting something, Jeeves. If we solve Jigger's problem and he becomes disengaged to Miss Cochrane and affianced to that dreadful Miss Bettany, how can we possibly ensure Foxy's engagement to the same woman? I do think someone will notice if she arrives down for breakfast at the crack of dawn with two engagement rings. Not least old Jigger, who will be sending telegrams to the old blood relative before I have even had my cold morning bath and breakfast of two slices of bread and weak coffee."

I concluded with some gloom. The breakfast Jeeves had served was excellent, which only emphasised the unpleasant idea of morning after morning of continental breakfasts stretching before me.

"No sir, that would not be desirable," Jeeves acknowledged. "However, we could use the time we have gained in an attempt to transfer Dr. Hunter's affections from Miss Bettany to another."

"To Miss Cochrane, do you think?" I queried thoughtfully.

"Perhaps, sir. It would have the advantage of being rather neat, sir."

Jeeves has a perfect mania for neatness. I sometimes observe his eyebrow raise a fraction of an inch when he sees me drop my hat and scarf on the floor and I could swear that I once saw his upper lip quiver slightly when I returned from the Drone's Club with tomato juice on my collar. We had been playing a new game invented by Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps. But I shall return to the matter at hand.

"Well, if you think that will work, Jeeves, my faith is in you. But how shall we disentangle old Jigger from Miss Cochrane? That is, logically, our first step."

Jeeves coughed. "Well, sir, it appears to me that if Miss Cochrane were herself to break the engagement to Dr. Maynard, she may be likely to do so quietly in order to avoid any appearance of impropriety on her behalf."

I pursed the lips. "Jeeves, I do hate to appear to be critical of everything you say, but there is another fatal flaw."

"Sir?"

"Miss Cochrane does not wish to break her engagement. She is perfectly happy with the dratted doctor."

"Yes sir. However, she could perhaps be persuaded, sir."

"Persuaded, Jeeves?"

"Well sir, if you will forgive me, I have noticed during our acquaintance that you have always been popular with the fair sex."

I dropped my coffee cup, from which I had been draining a last mouthful, with a clatter. His eyelids flickered as the brown liquid stained the sheets, but I refused to offer my condolences. I could not believe the audacity of the man.

"Do you mean to say, Jeeves," I said in my coldest tones, "that you would have a Wooster - a Wooster! - play with a woman's affections? You must be mad, Jeeves! Where is your gentlemanly spirit? What would your father say, and your father's father and your father's father's father? Is this the ways of Jeeveses of old? Is this the plan of a man who serves a man who attended Eton? We may be in Continental Europe, Jeeves, but I hope you will not forget that we are Englishmen and gentlemen!"

As I completed this magnificent speech, I had thrust the breakfast tray aside and swung out of bed. Jeeves was beginning to speak, but I held up a hand.

"No more, Jeeves," I said with passion. "You have disappointed me."

"Sir, I fear - " he began.

I silenced him with a glance. It is a glance I do not often use, but on this occasion it seemed called for. "Jeeves, if you would be so good as to pass me my socks. Thank you."

 

I dressed with haste, avoiding Jeeves's beady eye and strolled downstairs. I did not bother to cover my disdain and it was a pretty haughty back that turned itself on the man as I left the room.

It was not a pleasant walk. One might think that a simple journey down a flight of stairs would not be a difficult one, but long experience has proved to me that if one is on a staircase and therefore has no way to escape because one may only proceed in one of two directions - viz. down or, of course, up - one will naturally meet the very person one does not want to meet. On this occasion, I met three persons that I did not want to meet at the bottom of the stair.

"Hullo, Bertie, old thing!" Foxy looked very cheerful for that hour of the morning.

"I do hope you feel better, Mr Wooster," Miss Bettany said with concern.

Jigger just grunted and glared. I hadn't expected anything less.

"Hullo," I said listlessly. At least, I can't remember precisely if I said it listlessly or not. I expect I did. I certainly felt listless. I remember that quite clearly.

"You do look ill, I must say. I thought you were shamming so you could avoid breakfast. But you do look very green, don't you agree, Jack?" He elbowed Jigger in the ribs, rather sharply, I thought. Jigger grunted again, keeping his narrowed eyes affixed on my face.

"A brisk walk might do you good," Foxy continued. "Miss Bettany did say she wanted a walk, didn't she? You could escort her." He accompanied this final remark with a meaning cough. I saw light dawn in Jigger's eyes. For a moment I thought he would grunt again and was preparing myself mentally for such an utterance when he spoke.

"That's a wonderful idea," he said, with another meaning glance.

I could tell, with the famed Wooster wit, that coincidentally both the meaning glances meant the same thing. Both men wanted me to use the opportunity to persuade Miss Bettany to marry them. I had rejected Jeeves's plan quite definitely, but I had not had time in which to formulate my own. However, there is no time like the present. I would not let the grass grow beneath my feet or the day wait upon the hour, as Jeeves says (he may lack the chivalry I would appreciated in a valet, but there is no doubt he knows his poet Burns - or was it old Shakespeare?). The best thing to do would be to grab the bull by the horns and find out from it which of the two coves he would prefer to marry. Or she, if you understand my meaning, although I do understand that bulls are invariably male. Still though, we shall not let such a thing ruin the beauty of the metaphor. In simple terms, I would derive from Miss Bettany if she had a preference for either Jigger or Foxy and formulate a plan from there, depending on her answer. One cannot proceed without full information, as I have often heard the judge remark at my trials. It appeared to me that Miss Bettany's feelings on the matter comprised the missing information in this case.

I summoned a modicum of enthusiasm, despite my pounding head and lowered spirits. "That would be quite nice, if she would accept me."

Miss Bettany nodded. "Wait half a second, I just need my coat and gloves. Shall I get yours?"

I acquiesced and she galloped off, rather as if she was last year's winner a neck behind the tiring front runner on the homestretch. I felt somewhat overwhelmed. I'd forgotten how like Honoria she was. My head ached more.


	9. Chapter 9

Jigger bared his teeth. Or at least, he made some sort of grimace. I wasn't looking directly at him, so I missed the full effect, but I caught the movement of his face out of the corner of my eye. He's the sort of chap to whom baring of teeth comes easily though, so I imagine that was the look he was going for.

"I trust you remember what we discussed," he said sharply.

I attempted a cheery nod.

"Of course, J - Maynard. Of course. Quite. Yes."

He snorted. "Do be quiet, Wooster." He continued up the stairs without a backward look. Well really. If my future happiness depended on a man, I'd be careful to be kind to that man. And if that man whose happiness depended on the man was a doctor and I was that man and the man - the first man, if you follow me - was in pain, then I would tend to his needs with a gentle hand. But some men are not to be sneezed at and it struck me that this man was one of them. He was followed by Foxy, whose back, to be fair, did look rather sympathetic.

It suddenly occurred to me to wonder. I had partaken of Jeeves's patent nostrum and I had felt its effects at the time. Why then was my head so muzzy now?

The answer soon arrived.

"Are you ready?" it demanded in clarion tones. "I brought you some milk too. It will soon bring the colour back into your cheeks. Along with our crisp mountain air. The snows should arrive soon," she continued, "Frieda says it's going to be an early winter. Hard lines on the peasant folk, of course. But rather jolly for us. Do you ski, Mr Wooster? Or skate? We all do up here. And we did at School, of course."

"I - I - " I stuttered feebly, taking the glass of milk that was pressed on me. I hadn't drunk milk since I was a babe in arms. I looked at it doubtfully, but under Miss Bettany's quelling eye, I drank deeply. It did not help my headache, although I cannot speak for my cheeks. There was no looking glass nearby.

"Well, come on!" she demanded. "Let's be off. I do loathe waiting around, don't you?"

I wondered if Miss Bettany had been head girl at the aforementioned School. Honoria had been head girl at her school, I seem to remember. And so had Florence Craye. It does seem to have rather a strange effect on girls. Makes them rather dictatorial, or so I'd noticed. Makes them think they can order you - or just about anyone - around. Now that I think of it, actually, if one is to abide by that rule it would seem that most of the girls of my acquaintance were once head girls. To say nothing of aunts. I pity the school that had my Aunt Agatha as head girl.

"Come on!" Miss Bettany cried again, rather too heartily.

I smiled imperceptibly and followed her meekly.


	10. Chapter 10

"Have you known Dr Hunter for long?" Miss Bettany asked, as we walked. I use the word "walked", but it was rather more akin to a slowish run. I don't think Miss Bettany walked anywhere, or at least that was the impression I got. "A man's work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover", as I have heard Jeeves say. I am not certain what it means, but it is a motto I always subscribe to. I prefer a slow meandering walk and consider myself something of a connoisseur of the activity. This, I decided, was definitely a run - or perhaps even a climb, and I could not say that it accorded with my ideas on the subject.

I was rather out of breath by this point but it would have been rather rude not to answer. "Oh rather," I panted. "We were at Eton together, don't you know. Had some jolly times there, of course. Jokes and japes. I seem to remember that we put a spider down old Creefy's neck in Latin. Well, one doesn't forget an old chum with whom one has put a spider down a neck, does one?"

Miss Bettany agreed heartily, which surprised me rather. "Oh yes, I quite agree. We didn't have spiders down necks much in the Chalet School, of course, but we had our fair share of tricks. My three great friends and I floured some of the middles' hair in the middle of the night. They woke and thought that they had gone grey! How mad Lonny was!"

I laughed along with her. How very subtle of her. Girls are subtle in these matters, of course, and a lot can be learned from them. Why I remember Bobbie Wickham's great trick of piercing the hot water bottle while one sleeps - but no. I remembered that trick of Bobbie's only too well and how it was the cause of me sleeping in a wet bed all night with only the thoughts of Roderick Glossop tearing me limb from limb in the morning to cheer me. I hardened my heart to young Bobbie, a menace if there ever was one. But I couldn't help feeling warmer to Miss Bettany. We shared stories of our school jokes for about a quarter of the mile, until Miss Bettany suddenly stopped.

"I asked you about Dr. Hunter," she said seriously, "because I want you to help me."

"Oh ah?" I enquired, rather busy with assuaging the stitch in my side.

"I had a letter from my friend Mary Burnett just before you came. She is acquainted with a Miss Roberta Wickham, whom I believe you know?"

"Oh ah yes, Bobbie. Good old Bobbie. How is the old fruit?" I was rather startled with the direction the conversation had taken. As may have been divined from my deliberations above, good things do not always result from association with Bobbie Wickham.

Miss Bettany continued undeterred by my feverish manner. "She says that you are rather good at solving problems." She looked at me with a questioning eye. It was her eye, naturally. But definitely questioning, I would have said. I wasn't quite sure what the question was, however, as my attention had wandered slightly during the last few words of her sentence, but I hazarded a guess at an appropriate answer.

"Oh rather, yes."

This seemed to satisfy her because she continued.

"Well, it's Dr Hunter. I believe that - "

She stopped and went rather red.

"I say!" I said. "Are you quite all right?"

"This is rather a delicate matter, Mr Wooster. I know that, being a friend of his (and I hope of mine through Miss Wickham), you will be discreet."

"Oh rather, yes," I said again. I was at a loss.

She made an effort. "I believe that Dr Hunter desires… would like… I think that he would like to marry me."

"Ah!" I said, understanding dawning. "And you would like me to egg him on a bit? I know he's a bit of a wet fish when it comes to…"

"No, no!" She startled me with her vehemence.

"No?" I enquired. I had lost track of the conversation somehow and was confused.

"I don't want to marry him. I don't want to marry anyone. I am perfectly happy with my nieces and nephews and Madge and writing my books."

I suppressed a shudder. Now she reminded me of Florence Craye. I harboured a strong dislike for lady novelists. But she was looking at me with tears in her soft pansy-like eyes and a Wooster never leaves a damsel in distress. Especially one with such a profile, which I noticed as she turned her head away.

"Don't worry," I said chivalrously, attempting a soothing pat on the arm. "I will speak to him."

I sent up a silent vote of thanks to my guardian angel at this point. When I was a child my old nurse always told me that I had a guardian angel to keep me safe from harm and to watch to see that I was eating my spinach and since then I am always careful to thank him for mercies. The mercy in this particular case was that Miss Bettany did not leap on me and embrace me. She rather looked like she was going to for five or ten seconds but decided against it and shook my hand vigorously instead. My guardian angel was always with me, as I said, but on this visit it seemed that Jigger Maynard was also always with me and I am sure that he would not have hesitated to write to several aunts if he had caught me in an embrace with his beloved.

I daresay I shouldn't - I had been entrusted with at least three impossible tasks - but I felt rather relieved at this last. Maybe the luck of the Woosters was about to turn. "Bertie," I heard an aunt say once, "has always had a hopeless and foolish optimism." A neat compliment, I thought at the time, and I have always endeavoured to live up to it. You cannot bring Bertram's spirits down for too long. Sooner or later he rises to the occasion and stiffens the upper lip with a smile on his face. And things usually work out. I made up my mind. I had already issued Jeeves with a stiff reprimand and I would issue an even stiffer one on my return. When it was taken in the proper spirit - and I had no doubt that it would be, I would forgive the man. It is not his fault if the code of the Jeeveses is not as strong as the code of the Woosters. I would merely have to ascertain that he learnt from my example. He is a quick learner, Jeeves. And then, once I had forgiven him, we could apply that mighty brain again to my tasks.

"You do look better," Miss Bettany said at this point, interrupting my planning. "I told you that the air would do you good."

I could, of course, have informed her that the air really had nothing to do with the brightening of my spirits (and therefore, one presumes, my complexion), but I felt it was better that she think that she had effected the cure. Ladies do prefer when they are allowed to think that they know best. It is particularly true of aunts - and young aunt she might be, but she was still an aunt.

I satisfied myself with an "oh yes, rather."

Miss Bettany sniffed rather loudly. I was about to offer a chivalrous handkerchief when I realised that she was just smelling the air of which she spoke so highly.

"Don't you simple adore the Tyrol?"

I oh-yes-rathered again, but she took no notice and continued.

"I am writing a book about the Tyrol at the moment. It's for girls again, of course."

"I once wrote an article, or 'piece' as we writers call it, on What the Well-Dressed Man is Wearing for my Aunt Dahlia's paper Milady's Boudoir."

She ignored this statement. This generally happens with me. Show me a woman, I am fond of saying, and I will show you someone who is going to ignore my statements.

This time, however, she had a good reason to ignore my statement. She had stumbled over a small indentation in the pathway and had fallen. By the word "paper", I surmise, she was on the ground and by the word "Boudoir", she was rubbing a rapidly swelling ankle.


	11. Chapter 11

"I say," I said, rather weakly. The sight of blood has always affected me in a negative manner. Of course, there was no blood visible yet, but in any accident one is reminded of blood in no uncertain way.

"I think I've sprained it," Miss Bettany said crossly, rubbing the offending body part. "Aren't you going to help me up? Or offer me a hanky or three? I must bind it."

"I… yes." I fumbled for my hanky, for although I was feeling weak and faint a Wooster must always be a gentleman and put the needs of the weaker sex above his own. I checked my trouser pocket. No hanky. I checked my jacket pocket. No hanky. I checked my sock. No hanky. I checked my other sock. Repeat the refrain. I checked my trouser and jacket pockets again in case I had gone temporarily blind, or whatever the equivalent is for touch. No hanky.

"Don't just stand there undressing yourself," Miss Bettany said impatiently. "I've seen sprained ankles before. We need to soak a hanky in cold mountain water and wrap it to reduce the swelling. Then you need to carry me to safety."

I balked at this, rather. I'm a tall man, just topping six foot two and I rowed at Eton so I'm strong, but regardless of this, I didn't feel that carrying Miss Bettany to safety or elsewhere would be an easy task. I also felt rather annoyed at the casual dismissal of my strenuous efforts to find a handkerchief.

"I am trying…" I began rather rudely when an amazing thing happened. Jeeves shimmered up.

I looked around wildly. I never have understood how Jeeves can suddenly appear into a room the way that he does, but usually there are handy cupboards or doors into which or around which he can withdraw or emanate from. On the side of a Tyrolean mountain there were no cupboards or doors. There wasn't even a handy tree from which he could have descended. I gave it up as a bad job and instead concentrated on what the man was saying.

"I believe that you forgot to bring your clean handkerchief, sir," he said respectfully, proffering the object.

I took it, my mouth slightly open. It was the expression that usually draws from Aunt Dahlia the words "Do close your mouth, Bertie, you look like a frog caught in a mousetrap."

Jeeves noticed Miss Bettany on the ground. Not much the man misses, I will say that for him.

"Are you hurt, Miss?" he enquired with deference.

"I should say I am!"

"You are fortunate, Miss."

"I don't see that at all."

"Mr. Wooster here is well educated in the art of First Aid. I am sure that he will be quick to bind your ankle and carry you to safety."

"Well, he hasn't done much so far."

"I am certain that Mr. Wooster knows best, Miss. He was probably very skillfully ascertaining the level of damage with his eyes. Mr. Wooster is well aware of the delicacy of the situation when it comes to a gentleman and a young lady and is always careful to measure damage with eyes rather than hands."

"Hm." Miss Bettany seemed to be considering this point.

"Jeeves," I said tightly. It was my best tight voice. I rarely use it, but I felt that the occasion called. "A word?"

"Yes sir?"

I moved just out of earshot. "Jeeves, I am not an expert at First Aid. I faint at the sight of blood. And naturally a Wooster must be a preux chevalier, but I think this carrying business may be going too far."

"Oh no, sir. There is no blood, as you can see, sir, and the First Aid required is a simple wet bandage. Carrying Miss Bettany may be rather difficult, but it is a short distance back to the house and I am sure that you will manage."

I huffed. But there was nothing for it. Jeeves had promised my services and despite my own animosity towards him at the moment, I could not let a lady down. I bandaged as well as I could with Jeeves' discreet assistance and struggled on to carry Miss Bettany back to the house.

I deposited her on the sofa in the drawing room. She was close to tears at this point as I am sure that the journey had not been comfortable and must have jolted the leg somewhat. I felt some sympathy for the old girl, remembering my headache of earlier in the morning and so I patted her hair.

"There there," I said, knowing that these words always offer succour.

"Oh Bertie," she gasped, leaning towards me. "Jeeves was right. What a solid lump of comfort you are!"

Jeeves appeared in the doorway.

"I have some news, sir. Mrs Gregson has just arrived."

"Aunt Agatha?!"


	12. Chapter 12

"Yes sir," Jeeves confirmed.

"But I say, Jeeves!"

"Yes sir."

"This cannot be, Jeeves."

"Yes sir."

I paused. "What do you mean, 'yes, sir' when I say 'This cannot be', Jeeves? Do you mean that it cannot be and it might be a demon or… or wraith?"

"No sir. It was an indication of my sympathy and understanding."

"Oh," I said, morosely.

I had nearly forgotten about Miss Bettany when she piped up, in what was, for her, a weak voice.

"Jeeves, I suppose you should be the first to know. Bertie - Mr Wooster and I are engaged to be married."

"Indeed, Miss? May I wish you every happiness."

I made a squeaking sound, reminiscent of a dying hippopotamus, a feeling of utter desolation coming over me. I don't know if you have ever experienced a feeling of utter desolation, but if your chums are anything like mine, you have experienced an egg being cracked over your head. It was a favourite pastime of Oofy Prosser at one point and there was a period of six weeks or thereabouts where one could not sit in the Drones smoking room without dripping of yolk. It was always an odd situation, even when one got used to it, and this is what I felt like now. Cold, you know, and shivery as the liquid drips down your neck. I mean, here I was, in a house where the occupants did not appreciate good music and did not dress for dinner, engaged to Honoria's evil twin, about to have my neck broken by my fiancé's chief admirer, about to break the heart of my fiancé's second admirer and my good friend, abandoned by my faithful servant who is bent on destroying my gentlemanly name and now - surrounded by aunts. I must admit I staggered a bit.

"Jeeves," I said, for I could still use the man for menial tasks even if his once-bright brain power had dimmed. "I think I might need a lie-down."

"Oh yes," chimed in Joey (I think I might take the liberty of using my fiancé's first name at this point). "You have had a very frightening experience. Think! You might have lost me! A hot bath and some hot milk with a little dose in it and you will be as right as rain."

I whimpered but Jeeves, the turncoat, acquiesced. It was not until we reached my room that he showed his true colours. "I think a whiskey and soda sir?" He produced a bottle from the wardrobe. "I took the liberty of purchasing some from the lady known as Matey."

My faith in the man increased tenfold.


	13. Chapter 13

"Jeeves," I said weakly, even as the man poured the restoring nostrum, "my faith in you has increased tenfold."

"Thank you, sir."

"Easy on the soda, Jeeves," I told him, sagging onto my bed.

"I think under the circumstances, sir, no soda at all?"

Jeeves had returned to my bosom. I told him this between draughts.

"Thank you, sir. And if I might be permitted to speak, sir -"

"Go on, Jeeves." I knew from experience that he generally would anyway, although with the most abject deference.

"I felt that I had never gone far, sir."

I sat up, as I had been lolling on the bed. It is not my practice to remind him of his follies, but one must not let standards drop and I feared that Jeeves standards were a little less stable than one would like in a faithful leige.

"Now Jeeves. I am not a hard master as well you know, but I have strong objections against playing with the affections of a lady. And this is what you were suggesting. You must admit that it was ungentlemanly of you. I will of course accept your apologies and all will be as it were. Or possibly as it was."

Jeeves did not correct my grammar and I could tell that he was sorely aggrieved. Well. I had not spoken to hurt, but often the truth has this affect.

"Sir, I feel that you misunderstood my words. I did not mean to suggest that you make the fair lady believe you had intentions towards her - as indeed you cannot now that you are engaged to her friend. You can, however, make others think that you have untoward intentions. If Mr. Hunter believes such a thing of his old school friend, he will naturally avow to defend her honour."

"And Miss Cochrane will naturally fall for his knight in shining armour act," I conluded.

"Quite possibly, sir," Jeeves confirmed.

"And when Miss Cochrane breaks her engagement to Jigger and becomes affianced to old Foxy, Jigger will be free to pursue Miss Maynard."

"Yes sir."

I raised a finger. "I have spotted another fatal flaw, Jeeves."

"Sir?"

"Miss Bettany is happily affianced to Bertram Wooster at the present moment."

Jeeves' eyebrow quivered. I could tell by this horrified expression that this was not a situation dear to his heart. I could sympathise with the man. Honoria Glossop was bad enough, Florence Craye was bad enough, Bobbie Wickham was bad enough but this lady was a mixture of all three - and so marriage was an intolerable thought. The only thing I could say for her was that there was no Madeline Bassett in her, but it did only take one full moon for a girl to start on about the little stars being God's daisy-chain and one rabbit for her to start on about the rabbits being fairies in disguise. If a girl could go from Honoria to Florence to Bobbie in three seconds, I'm sure she could go to Madeline in a fourth. And of all the girls I've been engaged to, Madeline was the most intolerable. Heartiness is one thing, intellectualness is difficult to bear but possible to ignore, high spirits can be passed over with a merry wink. Soppiness is another thing entirely. As I have said before, I am not a man to bear sitting at the breakfast table with his wife's hands over his eyes, being asked to 'guess who'.

"I feel that if we sort the situation with Miss Cochrane first that things will quickly fall into place, sir."

"Indeed?" I said. "I shall trust you, Jeeves."

"Thank you, sir."

A knock came at the door and a familiar voice called loudly, "Bertram, are you there?"

I gave a hollow groan. It was Aunt Agatha.


	14. Chapter 14

"Jeeves!" I looked at the man for assistance, but he had faded into the background. I often thought he was as fearful of the scourge of the Wooster as much as I was - but no, that could not be the case. My faith restored in the man, I refused to believe that he would fear my aunt, large and bellowing as she was.

I looked around the room for someplace to hide. Under the bed seemed a place, but the sheets would not have hidden me; for some reason, this family went in for fluffy covers rather than good English sheets and blankets and they did not reach the floor. The wardrobe was out of the question; I could not crease my dress shirts without arousing Jeeve's ire - and besides, perhaps that was where Jeeves was. I have never discovered where it is that he goes when he melts away. I made a mental note to investigate this possibility at some point. For now, I decided that all I could do would be to open the door.

"Bertram!" bellowed the Aunt as I opened the door.

"What ho!" I said, with as much cheer as I could muster.

"Don't witter, Bertram!" she said, marching past me and surveying my room with disdain.

"No," I agreed. "Wittering done away with. Gone. Done for. Disappeared."

She fixed me with her eye and I quailed.

"I suppose you are wondering why I am here."

"The idea had crossed the mind. That is to say…"

"Bertram, do stop! You are giving me a headache. I am in a delicate condition and not to be worried." She paused and gave me the eye again. "Poor Agnes, my housemaid, still hasn't recovered from your terrible actions with that miscreant Glossop. Really, Bertie, sometimes I think you are weak in the head."

"I say, Aunt Agatha!"

"Well I wish you'd stop saying," she said crossly. "I am trying to explain to you about my terrible health problems - a suspected shadow on my lung, no less - and how you may have caused it by your wicked ways - and there you are saying things."

"Health? Lung? Shadow?" was all I managed to stutter. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jeeves shimmer in to the room again and felt some relief.

"Yes Bertram," she said with impatience. "Jeeves, I do think you brought him to the wrong kind of sanatorium. This one is for lung trouble, not mental deficiences."

"Yes Madam," Jeeves said.

"Hmph," Aunt Agatha said. "I will see you at dinner, Bertram. I won't be admitted to the Sanatorium until the morning and I intend to have luncheon served in my room. I shall of course descend for dinner. I doubt these people dress for dinner, but I hope you are keeping standards high. The Wooster name is a good one, Bertram, and while you are managing to destroy it throughout most of England, I won't have it destroyed in Austria. You do seem to be doing reasonably well here, I will admit. Engaged to Miss Bettany - it is not a step I forsaw you taking and I can think of many eligible girls who are of higher birth, but under the circumstances it is quite a good match. Your doing, Jeeves, I expect?"

Jeeves inclined his head respectfully.

"Hmph," Aunt Agatha said again. "Well, see he doesn't ruin this one, Jeeves."

Jeeves was in the middle of saying "No Madam" in a soupy voice when Aunt Agatha swept out regally.

"I say, Jeeves."

"Yes sir," he said feelingly.

"A shadow on the lung, Jeeves, good lord. I shouldn't have thought that a shadow would dare come near any lung of Aunt Agatha's."

"No sir. I am entirely in sympathy with your feelings."

"Still though, I'm glad it wasn't old Jigger who summoned her by telegram. It might mean that he hasn't yet discovered the new engagement."

"No sir. We might have surmised as much, of course, sir, as no telegram would be quite so rapid."

I downed another restoring glass and held it out for some more. Jeeves corked the bottle and looked reproving.

"It is not wise to have so much before luncheon, sir."

"Jeeves, you do realise the strain I am under? Jigger may not have discovered the engagement yet, but he soon will. And now he need not telegram Aunt Agatha for she is on the premises."

"The situation does seem somewhat unfortunate, sir." He kept the bottle firmly corked.

"Somewhat unfortunate?!" I repeated incredulously.

"Perhaps a stronger phrase may have been advisable. But it is time for luncheon, sir. And it might be to your advantage to appear at your best."

I acknowledged the wisdom of this, but I could not help adding, "this is a bit thick, Jeeves."

"Yes sir."


	15. Chapter 15

I went down for luncheon with my heart heavy. I had faith in Jeeves, of course, but the situation seemed desperate. I wished heartily that I had never replied to Foxy's telegram. Whatever trouble I had with Aunt Agatha in English had not compared with the trouble I was soon to have with her. The housemaid affair paled into significance. The laughter of the Drones at my misfortunes there would have been welcome - particularly so in comparison with the frosty glances I received as I arrived at the dining room.

"Joey is in bed after a hot bath," Mrs Russell informed me, although I had not asked.

"Her ankle was swollen - but so swollen!" chimed in the child.

They both glared at me.

"Ah yes, what?" I said. There seemed like nothing else to be said.

The doctors were not at luncheon. I assumed they were busy at whatever it is they did in their Sanatorium and I thanked God for this. No doctors and no aunts made for a more peaceful meal than I had anticipated.

After luncheon I made my way to the kitchen. This situation, I surmised, would call for Jeeves's foremost brains, and as the great minds of our time have pointed out, nothing makes brains more foremost than fish. Shakespeare was partial to sardines, they say; Aristotle couldn't pass a herring without gulping it down and Spinoza, a great hero of Jeeves', never moved without a spare cod or two. Perhaps in his codpiece. But I digress. The fact remains, you see, that it is all in the fish. There hadn't been any fish on the menu since I'd arrived, with the simplicity of the meals served not allowing for a fish course. Still, I have always had a charming way with domestic staff and I knew that I could easily persuade one to find some fish to present to Jeeves to stimulate the grey cells even more. His plan so far was sketchy, I thought, and on a normal occasion my own would be sufficient to fill the gaps, but I felt too fragile and worried to engage it. Maybe some fish would do me good too. I made up my mind to receive a double portion.

"Gruss Gott mein Herr!" I was greeted at the door by a young woman in a cook's apron.

"I… ah, yes." I said with some aplomb. "I came to congratulate you on a superbe meal this lunchtime." I smiled to make my meaning clear.

"Danke Shon," said the cook, smiling politely but regarding me with great suspicion in her eyes.   
"Yes," I said. "I was just wondering, though, if you could give me some fish."

"Fish?"

"Fish," I confirmed. I opened and shut my mouth in a fish-like way for emphasis.

The cook looked confused. "Fish?" she repeated again.

"Fish," I confirmed again, perhaps with a tad more impatience this time. I opened and shut my mouth again and pretended to swim up and down the corridor, using my arms as fins.

"Mein Herr…" The look of confusion had not disappeared.

I decided to go for a less ambiguous mime this time. I attached an imaginary hook to an imaginary line and cast it into the water - still imaginary, if you follow. I stood for a moment with great patience, then jumped as I felt a tug on the line - still imaginary. I wound up the line and disentangled the fish - imaginary, of course, you'll remember. At this point I thought it best to lose myself into the drama, as was taught to me with great proficiency by Dr. Elton, my English teacher at my private school when I played Miranda in The Tempest. I very nearly won a Drama Prize that term, losing narrowly to Prospero, who as I have always said, just had a more showy role. In any case, at that time, I threw myself into the role and this time I felt it were wise to do the same. Losing myself to my muse, I not only acted the fish just disentangled from the line, I became the fish just disentangled from the line. I threw myself to the ground, keeping the opening and shutting mouth motif, naturally. I wriggled, I gasped, I flopped and generally acted fishy.

I was met, however, not with rounds of applause, but with two startled shouts.

"Mein Herr! Sind Sie krank?"  
"Mr Wooster! Are you ill?"

The shouts took me out of my performance and I lay on the floor rather helplessly, as anyone might when stopped in a moment of great artistry.

The cook and the bird-like child were both staring at me with what looked like horror but must have been great respect.

"Ah," I said, reassuringly. "You see, no, I am quite alright, I was just a fish."

"I'll fetch Oncle Jem and Dr. Jack," said the child decidedly.

I started and sat up with rapidity. "No, that's not at all necessary!"

But the child had run to the doorway. "DR. JACK! ONCLE JEM! TANTE MARGUERITE?"

At the creature's shouts, the three aforementioned came running. I managed to get up from my prostate position and brush myself off just in time.

"What's wrong, Robin?" Mrs Russell gasped, arriving out of breath with the two doctors who regarded me with great suspicion.

"Mr. Wooster was terribly ill! I think he hit his head, Tante!"

I raised a protest, but was drowned out by a flood of excited and voluble German from the cook.

"It's all right, Marie!" Maynard said gently and eyed me with disdain. "We better get you to the San, Wooster. I always knew there was something wrong with your brain. It'll be interesting to find exactly what."


	16. Chapter 16

"I'm quite alright," I protested vainly. "I was just being a fish!"

A doctor took me gently but firmly by each elbow and began to steer me towards the main door of the house, Mrs Russell and Robin trailing along behind.

I don't have to tell you that the situation seemed pretty hopeless. The Wooster brain was at work, trying to find the magic words to release me from the death-grip. However the Wooster brain was drained from the performance I'd given earlier. If I had been than fish in my prep school the Drama Prize would have been mine. But it was not to be, and instead I was in a house with doctors and lady novelists who did not appreciate the finer arts. It was a desperate situation. I don't know if you understand the term "agley" but it was certainly the way things had ganged. One of Jeeves' gags, that. Something about mice in it too, but I failed to recall. It was the pressure at my elbow that dulled the memory, I think.

I had just gotten to this point in my reverie, when I heard a sheep's cough. Or so I thought. In front of us, just blocking the door, stood Jeeves, looking very disturbed. I knew he was very disturbed because his left eyebrow was raised perhaps a sixteenth of an inch and there was something about his lower lip. Not his upper lip, of course, that was as stiff as ever.

"Is Mr Wooster quite alright?" he inquired smoothly, without a quiver in his voice.

Maynard explained the situation in a few terse words. "Wooster's gone mad. Was harassing the maids. Thinks he's a fish."

"Ah," Jeeves said.

"Ah?" Maynard repeated. I sensed that his teeth were gritted because his grip on my elbow became more gritted.

"It is not the first time that Mr Wooster has been under such an illusion. Has anyone checked his bedroom?"

"His bedroom?"

I wondered if the house had an echo, but it was just Mrs Russell.

"His bedroom," Jeeves confirmed. "There may be cats present. There were twenty-three last time. I believe it may be difficult to locate cats on the Sonnalpe, of course, so it may be less this time."

A four-way look was looked by the four residents of the house. I was promptly dropped and the four ran up the stairs.

I rubbed the offending elbows.

"I say, Jeeves, that ganged a bit agley."

"Sir? If, as I surmise, you are saying that it was an unfortunate situation in which to find oneself, I agree, sir."

"Yes Jeeves. You came in the nick of time."

"Thank you, sir."

"I do spot one fatal flaw, Jeeves."

"Sir?"

"The inhabitants of this house, Jeeves, think that I am mentally deficient. They think that I think I am a fish. They think I may have twenty-three cats in my bedroom."

"Or slightly less, sir."

"Yes Jeeves, but that does not affect matters greatly. Any cats at all in my bedroom are not desirable."

"Yes sir. However, I thought that it might be as well for the family to think that you were not, if you forgive the expression, the full shilling."

"And why did you think that Jeeves?" My voice was full of reproach..

"I felt, sir, that as charming a lady as Miss Bettany is, that it would not be a successful attachment. Her family and friends would not advocate her becoming engaged to a gentleman with a mental deficiency."

The fog cleared and I saw that again I had done the man an injustice.

"Thank you, Jeeves. But - one thing. They intend to bring me to their hospital for tests."

"Do not worry, Sir. I will take the doctors aside and explain that I am your personal physician, travelling as your valet to minimise embarrassment to the members of your family."

"Inspired, Jeeves. And what about the members of my family that are in fact here present?"

"As you know, sir, Mrs Gregson - your Aunt Agatha - is already of the opinion that you are, if you forgive a direct quotation, "soft in the head"."

This was true. I considered the situation. Things were improving. I could safely consider myself no longer engaged. Now I could begin to concentrate on the other problems with which I was presented.


	17. Chapter 17

"We must now concentrate on the other problems with which we are presented, Jeeves," I said.

"Sir?"

I decided to share my mental list. Listing goes a long way to ironing things out, I've always found, and Jeeves agrees. Where would one be without the list? Would the Duke of Wellington have defeated Napolean without a list of the actions he should first take? Would David have sorted out old Goliath without remembering to put his slingshot and a few rocks his packing list? Would - but I digress. All I wanted to put forward was that quite a few people made lists and it helped them in their endeavours. I hoped that a list would help me in mine.

"Do you have a pencil, Jeeves? I think a list might help."

Jeeves produced a paper and a piece of notepaper from his person.

"Shall we adjourn to the salon?" he said respectfully.

"We shall," I acquiesced and we duly adjourned - after, of course, I rose from the ground where I had been dropped abruptly and Jeeves had carefully dusted me down with his handkerchief.

Safely installed in the drawing room - or salon, I suppose - I began my dictation. Jeeves had begged permission to sit and I preferred to pace, knowing that the movement would send the blood flowing to the brain where it was much needed.

"Item 1," I began, "I am engaged to a Miss J Bettany and while I will not bandy a woman's name, Jeeves, it is not greatly to be desired. We feel that this betrothal will soon come to a natural end, but this outcome must not be taken for granted."

I had reached the wall on one side of the room and so I turned to the other. Dratted room was smaller than I was used to and my lengthy stride meant that only one item per turn would be possible. This annoyed me momentarily but I strove to concentrate on higher things.

"Item 2," I said. "Are you keeping up, Jeeves? Item 2. A Mr J Maynard, better known as Jigger, an old school acquaintance - can you spell acquaintance, Jeeves? I believe there is a 'C' in there - is desirous of marrying the aforementioned Miss Bettany. As he is engaged to the unmentioned Miss G Cochrane, this is impossible and so he has made known his desire to break this engagement without the knowledge of the first lady. He is encouraging Bertram to do this on pain of revealing incriminating information to my Aunt Agatha who - add this as an addendum to Item 2 - is on the premises. Item 3 - Miss Bettany does not wish to become engaged to anyone - apart from Bertram here."

I broke off to heave a sigh.

"Item 4. My old school chum, Mr Hunter - also Foxy - has also expressed a desire to become engaged to the aforementioned Miss Bettany. While he has no threats of blackmail, the ties of a common school and old chum-hood mean that I am also obliged to carry out this favour. Have you got all that, Jeeves?"

"Yes sir."

"To sum up: two men want to marry the girl that I am myself engaged to and I have undertaken to engage both of them to her despite her own reluctance, without arousing the ire of a doctor who may break both my legs, the anger of my Aunt who is the curse of the Woosters or the naïve disappointment of the old pal. What's next, Jeeves?"

"The solution, sir."

"So calmly you put it!"

"Yes sir. 'Nothing is so bitter that a calm mind cannot find comfort in it', sir."

"Hmm, Jeeves."

"Sir?"

"I said hmm, Jeeves. It is not an expression I often use, but I feel decidedly doubtful. I don't think we've ever been in a worse mess."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir."

"Hmm, Jeeves. In any case, for sake of neatness in our list - " I have always been a proponent of neatness in my lists - "the solution. Solution A - becoming disengaged from Miss Bettany due to insanity. This is already under preparation - although, will the solution fail when no cat is found in my bedroom?"

"I hardly think so, sir." Jeeves paused and I could see his eyebrow trembling infinitesimally. "I took the liberty, sir, of placing a small cat among your personal effects this morning."

"Jeeves!"

"I am sorry, sir, but I felt it was important that I did so. I am confident that your engagement will be broken off dinner time."

"Hmm, Jeeves. Hmm. If you are correct, that is item 1 stroked off. Solution B - Jigger becoming disengaged from Miss Cochrane by the method of transferring her affections to old Foxy. This has not yet begun - or has it?" I looked at my valet with hope in my eyes but this was quickly dashed.

"Not yet, sir. Your assistance is greatly required in this area."

"So you say, Jeeves. But I fail to see how we will do this and remain preux chevaliers. Solution C - creating affection in the heart of Miss Bettany for old Jigger. That will be a difficult one, Jeeves."

"I do not believe so, sir. I think that Dr Maynard will rush to her side when he hears of her disappointment at your mental condition - I beg your pardon, sir - and she wil quickly come to see him as her solid lump of comfort."

"Possibly, Jeeves, possibly. But do not underestimate the effect of Bertram Wooster on women. They find me irresistible. I was told once that it was because my face reminds them of a bewildered sheep and I arouse the maternal instinct. But we shall see. Solution D - creating affection in the heart of Miss Bettany for old Foxy. We cannot do both, Jeeves, clearly. You suggested instead transferring Foxy's affections to Miss Cochrane? That sounds even more difficult, Jeeves."

"Yes, sir. Perhaps it is overambitious, sir. However, all that is strictly necessary is that Mr Hunter no longer wishes Miss Bettany to be his wife. Perhaps you can convince him of the drawbacks of marriage or the deficiencies of Miss Bettany as a marriage partner. And then of course you can convince Miss Cochrane of the drawbacks of marriage too, and the deficiencies of Dr Maynard as a marriage partner. It may be simpler."

"Perhaps, Jeeves. Perhaps. Though I would not have chosen the word 'simpler'. Even with my list I am all a muddle. I think I need a lie down."

I was just about to take my leave and retire to my room when the former occupants of my room burst in the door - Mrs Russell, Dr Maynard and a small child holding a cat.

Jigger addressed his remarks to Jeeves, glancing only momentarily in my direction and standing slightly forward as if to shield the womenfolk from me. "Your master had a cat in his bedroom. Should the police be called? What usually happens in these situations? The San is so close; is hospitalisation required?"

"Oh no, sir," Jeeves said smoothly. "Just his medication and a sleep. I will take care of him at once and return to you momentarily to explain matters."

I was lying down sleeplessly on my bed when Jeeves returned.

"Well Jeeves?"

"All is well, sir. The doctors have agreed to leave you to my care and your engagement is broken. Miss Bettany is upset and Dr Maynard has undertaken to cheer her up. I have enlisted the help of Miss Cochrane as a nurse so you can begin to sow doubts in her mind about Dr Maynard. I suggest discussing how his treatment of you when you were unwell. She is to arrive imminently."

And imminently she did arrive. A true corker of a girl as I have mentioned before.

"Are you quite alright?" she said with grave concern.

"Oh quite," I said airily.

"Dr Jeeves said that you had a mild episode."

"Oh yes, but I'm quite alright now. Have them now and again when I forget my medication. Usually, of course, doctors are more sympathetic."

"Wasn't Jack sympathetic?"

"Not a bit," I said with real bitterness. "My elbows still ache from his grip and I have a nasty bruise from when he dropped me on the floor."

"I say," said the young lady with compassion.

"Yes indeed," I said.

"I should go and talk to him," she said with decision.

"Oh no," I said hurriedly. "I couldn't let you do that - why, he might become violent again."

Miss Cochrane looked startled. "Does Jack have a tendency to become violent? I had forgotten you'd known him in earlier years."

"Oh yes. I will never forget his treatment of me over the Scripture prize in school. I had won, quite fairly, and he threatened me many times with physical violence. I always thought," I mused, "that this proved me the real winner of the prize. As any student of Scripture knows, physical violence is rather frowned upon."

"I should say so," Miss Cochrane said with feeling, fingering a small red scar on her temple. "I do not approve of violence. Anyhow, I am sorry that I'm not staying longer - I will be back later. I do have to talk to Jack - but I will be careful not to enrage him. Don't worry. Do be careful, Mr Wooster. Mind him carefully, Dr Jeeves."

She left as imminently as she had arrived - I must check with Jeeves if that word is used correctly, but I think it is - and I looked at Jeeves.

"I think progress has been made, Jeeves."

"I think so, sir. That was well done if I may say so."

"Thank you, Jeeves."


End file.
